


crooked mask, reeks of lies

by Skullszeyes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Brothers, Dark, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jealousy, Jerome Valeska is Bad at Flirting, M/M, Manipulation, Possessive Jeremiah Valeska, Reunions, Siblings, Teasing, Twincest, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 13:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18282869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Jerome has a visitor, and he didn't expect to see him again.





	crooked mask, reeks of lies

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. I thought about problematic relationships, and I was never really interested in these two, but lately, I've wanted to at least explore some dark themes. This story isn't as dark, but I like the way I wrote it nonetheless. :) And I don't know, maybe I'll write a different story between these two!
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

It was an unexpected visit on an unexpected day. A Monday, to be more specific, around eleven in the morning. A surprise he didn’t anticipate nor particular want when it was told he had a visitor, a friend. The guard gave him a wry smile, and it seemed he wanted to say more, and it grew his curiosity of who it was.

All his relatives were dead, and his _friends_ were more a means to an end than real friendship.

Jerome was well rested, waking by a loud ringing that he was sure wouldn’t fade from his mind after he leaves this place. Whenever that was.

Jerome waited inside the small room covered in steel boring walls, tapping his cut fingernails against the steel table, smooth and cold as he spread his fingers out and curled them into fists. He tilted his head side to side, a slow smile rising to his lips. When one was bored, the mind accomodated the boredom in anyway possible.

Who was it? Bruce Wayne? He didn’t think he’d come wandering into Arkham. He’s probably proud and feeling safe in his lavish home in pressed clothing to ever think of him again. Did he whenever he spotted a knife, picking one up by the handle and smoothing a finger along the edge? Was that enough to leave a lasting impression, maybe he needed to do something more flamboyant. Alive, even, to get his attention, to get all of Gotham’s attention.

Jerome goes still when the door behind him is slowly pulled open, the metal sliding together, a loud groan from the rusty hinges. And he looks over his shoulder to see who it is, and a slow smile rises to his lips.

Oh, this is unexpected. Completely. Utterly. Unexpected, more than he would ever consider.

“Now I see why they wouldn’t tell me,” Jerome says, watching the visitor walk around him to the chair, pulling it out and sitting down. He’s as pristine as he was when they were younger, combed hair, clean face, glasses placed on the bridge of his nose. Even his clothes were nice, expensive even. Jerome knows he didn’t steal them, no, he bought them with his own money. He had the stench of someone who succeeded more than he should’ve. “I mean, why would they, you look exactly like me, little brother.”

Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his gaze flicked down to the table, but he didn’t touch it with his fingers. He didn’t look wary, more concerned about his own decision in coming. Jerome knew his brother, knew the way he reacted to things, his thoughts were displayed too easily. A book that only Jerome could read, the translation lost on others.

“Did you ever tell anyone that when you killed a bird or a squirrel,” Jerome said, smiling as Jeremiah met his eyes, his brows furrowed at the mention of their childhood, “you used to bury them in the back. A mass graveyard. Mother didn’t even know, we’ve moved a few times, but it was so damn obvious that you’d visit a few when it rained. I wonder, did you ever dig them up and collect the bones? You were always so secretive.”

Jeremiah was cool and collected, he let out a sigh and said, “I’m not here to discuss memories of our childhood.”

“More yours than mine, you never let me come to those little _funerals_ ,” Jerome said, chuckling as he leaned back against his chair. “But I guess mother was too busy wiping the blood from my face to notice your flaws.”

Jeremiah tensed, glancing away. “I wanted to see how you were.”

Jerome rolled his eyes, licking the top of his teeth, “Bullshit. Mother ain’t here to give you points for your lies. No need to do so with me.”

He was silent, thinking, his brows pinched, and then his features smoothed out and met Jerome’s eyes again. This wasn’t how he wanted their conversation to go, Jerome knew that, but he liked to tip the scale, push Jeremiah off a cliff, watch him panic while in deep water before succumbing to its depths.

He liked when his brother struggled, it gave him an edge.

“It’s been a long time, and I thought this was more than ideal to see you, now that you’re in Arkham Asylum.”

Ah, there it was.

Jerome leaned against the table, not enough to push against it, and smirked. “You always liked when I was tied down. Always wanted me locked away. You’re flaunting your jealousy, brother, might have to work on that.”

As kids, he teased his brother, played games with him, pushed him around until he was a crying mess. When they grew up, Jeremiah became a bit more manipulative, he used his advantage to get ahead, and used that to make up more lies about him, he was the one who lit the match and set Jerome on fire.

Then poof, he disappeared one night, leaving Jerome alone.

Now, he wasn’t even bothering to deny Jerome’s accusation, and he would know that it wasn’t. Not exactly. His brother had a thing about him when they were young, and Jerome accommodated it as much as he could, laughing at the absurdity of it, but it happened several times, a taste of metal and bitterness on his tongue, the feel of it in the dark as they pushed the blankets off the bed. It got too hot in the room sometimes. And Jerome had pushed Jeremiah once, his hand against his mouth, laughing into his ear, making sure he stayed quiet.

Jerome tilted his head to the side, smirking at his brother losing his grasp on whatever control he thought he had. “How does it feel to know exactly where I am? Does it soothe that possessiveness? I know you like cages the most.” He chuckled while Jeremiah glared. “And they call _me_ sick?”

Jeremiah shook his head, almost in a disgusted way as if he remembered a terrible memory or saw something disturbing and he didn’t want it in his head. He's reluctant when he looks at Jerome again, their eyes meeting in an almost compromising way as Jeremiah releases a bit of tension, and Jerome decides to shut his mouth to hear what he has to say. “I only came here to see how you were doing, stop twisting my words and making things up.”

“We both know I don’t make up every little lie, brother, you should try to take credit for a few.” Jerome can’t stop smiling, he hasn’t felt so amused by someone in awhile, and his brother always knew how to bring it out of him effortlessly.

Jeremiah lets out an annoyed sigh. “The place suits you.”

Jerome arches his brows, “I’ll take that as a compliment, after I get out of—”

“You’re not.”

Jerome snorts, then he lets out a loud laugh that echoes around them. “You’re underestimating me, and that would be a mistake on your part.”

Jeremiah narrows his eyes, spotting the subtle threat as he stands from the chair. “You’re better locked up.”

Jerome places his hands behind his neck, “Now you’re being honest.”

There’s a moment where Jeremiah stares at him, but it seems he gives up on the words, on the sentiment, on whatever insult he’d like to spew, and decides to leave.

It’s a second, a smirk played on his lips, his blunt nails digging into his shoulders as Jerome slams him into the wall beside the door. There’s an audible sound, but Jeremiah does something and the room goes still.

“What happened? When did a kiss go ignored,” Jerome taunted. Sometimes he wants more, to call out for it, to swallow him whole while clinging to the one who brought that howl from his throat. If only he could rip it out.

Jeremiah’s breath hitches, he grits his teeth, glaring into Jerome’s eyes before he grins and there’s a look of profound softness of misfortune that is only shown to Jerome. A monster beneath a mask, Jerome had torn his off awhile ago, Jeremiah knew only to let it hang crookedly off his.

“You didn’t earn it,” Jeremiah says through gritted teeth.

A fatal flaw along cracks of his control, it wavers between his fingers, and Jerome pulls back, it almost seems hopeless to convey his brother’s true intent, but he’ll eventually find out.

He gives Jeremiah one last smile as he leaves the room, and in a few seconds, the guards enter, wary of his presence between two with the same face, two with different personalities, two who matched and would rather cut each other up.

He always knew they’d eventually slaughter one another. It was their only true act of love they could give.

And he was impatient to see him again out on the dark streets of Gotham.

His darling brother who reeks of lies, with a smile meant to condone fear and reverence. His presence only allowed Jerome to recognize the hard lines of this dull building as transparent.

“One bad day,” Jerome promised as he was taken from the room.  


End file.
